House and Wilson are Dead
by old blue
Summary: Christmas shopping goes awry. Written for housefic pens 'box' excercise.


"We're dead."

_Everything_ is House's fault – pretty much all of it – and Wilson can't believe he's giving his bastard of a friend a ride home. But the streets are slick and it's dark out and cold. And, yeah, he's pathetic.

"Quit being so dramatic. We're fine. Better than fine, in fact. We're golden."

Wilson shakes his head. "I can't believe you did that. I can't believe _I_ did that."

House is so smug, he's almost unbearable. "I can't believe you did it either. You'd think after all these years you'd get a clue." He's finished fucking around with Wilson's iPod and has progressed to random button-pushing. Wilson wants to open the car door and kick him into the road.

"Oh, so it's my fault for being gullible. It's not that you set me up or anything. That couldn't have anything to do with it?"

"You _had_ to know this was coming. I just can't believe you actually delivered it."

"I—I went with you! I helped you pick it out!" It's hard to gesture wildly while driving and still stay on the road, but Wilson tries. "I thought it was a very tasteful gift – I was proud of you. Cuddy would have loved it." He shakes his head sadly.

"Yes, but did you watch me wrap it?" House inspects something on the dashboard, then picks at it with his fingernail. He sounds supremely unconcerned, but Wilson knows he loves this part – the magician's reveal. The part where he explains how he got some poor sucker from the audience to cut a real lady in half.

"I was in the next room—" Wilson sighs. He's not going to get anywhere on that front. It's a lost cause. Like charging head-first into enemy territory. While screaming. And wearing a red cape. "And that other thing—" He shudders. "I don't even want to know where you found _that_."

"Oh, you _so_ want to know. You're just not going to ask because you have to maintain the appearance of respectability at all costs."

Wilson snorts. "It was so inappropriate."

"Hello! That's why it's funny."

House slumps down even further in the passenger seat, apparently disgusted by Wilson's lack of appreciation for his little joke. If they get into an accident now, the seatbelt will probably slice his head off. Wilson imagines it happening and smirks.

"Anyway, I don't know why you're so freaked out. She obviously loved it."

"You weren't there! You didn't see her face when she opened it!"

"I wish I had—"

"To say that she loved it is pretty much the exact opposite of how she actually felt. _Loathed_ might be more appropriate."

"Actions speak louder than words. Or, in Cuddy's case, _shriek_ louder than words." House is grinning again. "Trust me. She loved it."

"Right." Now Wilson's confused. "That's why we're being punished. Assigning twelve extra clinic hours is just Cuddy's unique way of expressing that love."

"Exactly. The _same_ twelve clinic hours. She's practically sending us on our honeymoon."

"So the clinic is like Cancun now?"

House makes a dismissive sound. "Cancun is so cliché. I totally wouldn't settle for that. I'm much more demanding than your other wives. You'll have to do better if you expect me to put out. I'm thinking Tibet. Maybe Morocco."

Wilson stares at the tracks made by the wiper blades on the windshield. Sometimes it's just easier to let House get it out of his system before responding.

"Anyway." House draws it out, giving him a dirty look. "My point is Cuddy's not an idiot. She is many things, but she's not an idiot. She knows what kind of fun we'll get up to with twelve whole hours of uninterrupted clinic time."

House goes back to fiddling with the iPod and Wilson winces when something particularly loud and obnoxious is chosen. He doesn't remember downloading this crap.

"You mean the fun _you'll_ get up to. Seriously, man, what is this?" He makes a half-hearted grab for the iPod, but House jerks it out of reach.

"We've already established that Cuddy's not an idiot, right? Ergo, we can assume she knows I was the brains behind the whole operation even if your name was on the card."

"You wrote my name on the card? House, what did you—"

Another dirty look. "Ergo, she _wants_ me to have fun. And she knows the only way I'll have fun in the clinic for twelve hours is if you're also in the clinic for twelve hours. Ergo, she appreciated the gift. She's probably using it right now." House settles back comfortably and closes his eyes, satisfied with his logic. "Could also be a pre-emptive strike to keep me from paging you every five minutes. You should thank Cuddy for saving you from all those disappointed cancer kids and hours of useless stair climbing."

Wilson loves his Volvo. He's loved it since he bought it three years ago. He loves how it handles, and the sound it makes when he revs the engine. But right now he'd happily drive it straight into a tree and kill the both of them if it meant separating House's annoying head from his body.

House folds his hands on his chest and sighs happily.

"How much d'you think I'd have to tip the pizza guy to get him to deliver to exam room 2?"


End file.
